A/N: And here it is, folks! Chapter 30 finally! Sorry for the long wait! Hope it's worth your while :)). You guys have been fantastic all around!

"He's dying, isn't he?"

One by one, all eyes turned in the direction the soft but bluntly spoken words had emanated from. George stood behind them with arms crossed adamantly over his chest; his dark brown eyes alit with an unforeseen fire as they burned into the stunned features of the head nurse.

"George…" Mal gently began, outstretching a hand in his direction.

"No!" the lead guitarist barked, inching just out of reach, "They're supposed to be taking care of 'im and he's dying…"

"You should be sitting, Geo," Paul responded softly but sternly. He started towards him but George backed away even further, his mannerisms proving very similar to that of a confused wild animal.

"I-I don't need to," he affirmed the bassist, his quavering voice rising several octaves at a time, "Just someone answer me!"

"She's jus' the nurse," Ringo jumped in to explain, "The doctor—"

"Don't underestimate her!" George interrupted, his sharp glare shifting briefly to the drummer, "She knows far more than she's willing to let on! Johnny could be dead and she wouldn't even tell us!"

Ringo bristled visibly, the lead guitarist's words contributing to a chill that had befallen the room. "George, don't talk like that!"

"'S'true!" George went on, his voice shaking even more with building hysterics. His eyes were wild with increased distrust and blind accusation as he brought them back to the much too stoic face of the head nurse. "He's dead, isn't he?" he concluded, as though he'd received word from a separate unseen source.

"George, sit down!" Mal sharply reprimanded, deciding right then that he'd had and heard enough, "Yer coming off quite daft at the moment!"

The lead guitarist temporarily froze at the conducted tone of his road manager, his eyes briefly portraying an odd mixture of confusion and even fear. Then just as suddenly, real feelings reminiscent of lucidity evaporated in the blink of an eye to be replaced by the vaguely clouded lack of trust he'd been so keen on displaying, "I wanna see 'im, then," he stated quietly to no one in particular.

"What? See who, Georgie?" Paul frowned.

"Johnny. I want to see him!" George repeated, raising his voice with each word, "What aren't y'gits getting?" He was terribly pale now, his face practically ghostly in appearance, save for the feverish flush hugging his cheeks.

Paul's frown lengthened reactively, an unexplained feeling of dread beginning to bubble up from the center of his gut. Something was off with his band mate. Something wasn't right at all. "A-are you okay, Georgie?" he croaked out, his voice dripping worry and apprehension.

"Where's John?!" George shouted in response. He was staring through Paul now as though he wasn't even there.

"Mr. Harrison, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to calm down," the nurse spoke finally, "Your band mate is—" Her words tapered off unheard as George suddenly eased into a fit of whimpering. "They've left me…" he murmured, "Everyone's left because I'm too young…"

"Geo, we're right here!" Ringo proclaimed, rushing to his side. He lightly touched the youngest's arm to further seal in his word. The lead guitarist failed to even flinch.

"Mr. Harrison?" the nurse questioned, beginning to suspect now that something was in fact, wrong. She promptly snapped her fingers directly in his face hoping to produce some type of responsive reaction. He didn't blink; his eyes unseeing. "He's delirious…" she presumed, proceeding to settle a hand against his sweaty forehead. "He's burning up!" she announced after a while, "How long's he been sick?"

"A-all day today… I think…" Paul quavered, "Might've started yesterday… I- I don't know…" He gripped his hair in apprehensive distress. How could he not know? How could he not have seen this coming with all that John had recently put them through?

Mal settled a comforting hand upon the bassist's shoulder, "We only know that he's been ill today," he clarified for him, "It came on rather suddenly it seems…"

The nurse shook her head, looking briefly apologetic, "Well, given that much, I'm afraid, he needs to be admitted… immediately."

Both Mal and Ringo's faces fell simultaneously while Paul's went blank and emotionless.

"Not George too!" Ringo moaned, refusing to accept what might as well have been a death sentence. Impulsively, he gripped his mate's arm in attempt to generate some kind of response, "C'mon, Georgie, snap out of it!" he pleaded, his voice dripping with desperation.

The generated reaction was just the opposite as the lead guitarist's eyes rolled up in his head and his legs buckled beneath him.

"Bloody 'ell, George!" Mal choked out, willing his body forward with just amount of time to save him from a brutal meeting with the floor. Seemingly paralyzed, Ringo could only stare as the nurse sprung into action to assess his mate's vitals.

"He's breathing but he needs medical attention, now!" she hurriedly relayed back to them, her voice rigid with a sense of urgency.

Ringo continued to stare, stony-faced; the only action his suddenly fragile body seemed readily capable of as the scene presented itself with an all out sense of unreality that he wasn't familiar with. All he knew was that he felt somehow responsible. George had been conscious until he… until he… "Blimey!" the drummer whimpered pitifully to seal his own conclusions, "I've gone and broken 'im!"

"I need a crash cart in here and a doctor, stat!" the nurse shouted, her words only helping to build his self-accusations.

A strange wail filled the air and it took Ringo nearly ages to realize that the sound was coming from his own raw and burning throat. The room was spinning by the time he managed to take even one step in George's direction and somehow Paul had managed to beat him to the punch. How such a feat was remotely possibly considering the nonexistence of time was beyond the drummer's current ability to comprehend. But, Paul was there beside George… and Mal… and the head nurse… He was in good hands. Better hands now that Ringo had learned to keep his to himself.

Mal looked up at him from where he knelt beside George and his eyes widened instantaneously. "Ritch…" he uttered. The drummer could make out that much and only that much. He wasn't a lip reader… never really was. And why should he need to be now? Where was the sound? Why couldn't he hear what was being said? Come to think of it… Why couldn't he hear anything at all? The concern riding Mal's face said everything, however. Though what it said entirely was beyond Ringo's immediate knowledge. 'What about George?' he couldn't help wondering, 'Why wasn't he directing his worry at George in place of him? It was George that had fallen… George that had gone unconscious…' With a quavering sigh, the drummer dropped to his knees. He couldn't breathe… Why couldn't he breathe? It was as though there suddenly wasn't enough air in the room. It was as though the room was suddenly filling up with water. He couldn't… he couldn't…

"Ritch, what's the matter?!" Mal's voice proceeded to fill his head.

Ringo couldn't answer. Couldn't look at him. It was too much. He wasn't equipped to handle so much.

"Ritchie?" Paul had now joined forces with their road manager's concerned prodding, "Are you all right?"

His choked breaths were quickly increasing in strength, his struggles becoming all the more imminent through his repeated ragged gasping.

The nurse took one look at him, her eyes clouding over with even more concern. "Make that two crash carts!" she ordered to the staff now filling the room, "I've got another patient in the throes of a panic attack! Did I mention that this one's also a member of the Beatles? Move! Move!"

"I-I'm all right!" the drummer managed to choke out in between deep, exaggerated breaths, "F'cus on Geo… Jus' f'cus…"

The nurse stared hard at him, before dismissing him altogether. Within moments, more backup arrived and the room was flooded with additional staff and personnel. Demands were made as apprehension filled the air stemming from those who chose to look on. Questions were asked and just as well, questions were ignored, remaining unanswered as though the half of the band responsible didn't matter and simply served as a hindrance. And within the quickest of an instant, it was all gone. And George was gone; carried off to some unknown portion of the hospital leaving behind shock. The worst kind of shock that would render one a stuttering mess or worse; rob one of speech entirely.

A/N: Another cliffhanger haha, how evil of me! I'll try not to keep you all waiting around too long for the next chapter! Stay tuned until next time! :)) Love you all!